


A Many Trousered Problem

by Laurenjames



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurenjames/pseuds/Laurenjames
Summary: Written in 2010 for harrypotter_las on LiveJournal, for the prompt 'leather'
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Kudos: 12





	A Many Trousered Problem

Hermione was bored. Increasingly, since the end of the war, she'd found herself missing the adrenaline rush that came from the danger of her schooldays. While Harry was just happy not to be in mortal peril, Hermione was discontent, and the thought of spending the rest of her days pushing paper made her wince.

Instead, her mind kept returning to Norbert. Comments like, “Did you know dragons purr, like kittens, when they are happy?” had always been a regular occurrence and now she had a chance to think about it, she realised that she had a minor obsession with dragons.

So she took a gamble, and enrolled on a dragon training course. The perfect mix of danger, exhilaration and studying, and no need to erase the memory of her family into the bargain.

The camp in Romania was full of rowdy men, covered in scars and tattoos, gruff voices filling the air. Exactly as she had expected, but with an added bonus. They were all wearing skin-tight leather trousers. Every single one. She turned to Charlie Weasley, who was showing her round and inquired about it, frowning.

“Woven fabrics don’t hold heat barrier spells as well as hides. You need the density to stop fire passing through. Plus they help with the cold. You’ll get yours after dinner.”

Hermione spluttered, an image of herself in leather trousers making her wince. The attire was so completely opposite from her normal jeans it was almost a joke. It looked good on the men, outlining muscular thighs and tight buns, but on her….

“I am not wearing those,” she hissed, “I’ll look ridiculous!”

“Don’t be silly, I’m sure they’ll suit you. In fact, I’m looking forward to it,” he leered at her, waggling his eyebrows.

“That’s exactly my point!” she exclaimed, “There is no way I’m going out in public dressed like that.”

“Hermione, you’d seriously risk your health to get out of showing off your arse? No one will even notice, I swear. After you’ve tried them on, you will see you’re overreacting.”

Hermione nodded reluctantly, and she’d almost forgotten about the trousers by the evening. She hadn’t had a proper conversation with Charlie for ages, and it was lots of fun catching up with him over dinner, hearing anecdotes about his early days on the enclosure and horrifying exams.

Before he showed her to her room, they went to the stores, and she was piled down with equipment, including the dreaded trousers. He left her to settle in, promising to pick her up the next morning for breakfast.

After she’d unpacked her clothes, she finally gave in and tried them on. She blanched at her reflection. It was practically obscene. An image flashed through her head; two pairs of leather-clad legs wrapped together, their owners locked in a passionate cinch. Her colour quickly changed from pale white to red, and she pulled off the trousers, embarrassed but determined. Unless there was no other option, she wasn’t wearing them in public, for her own sanity. That evening she cast layer after layer of spells onto a pair of denims.

Charlie inquired about the jeans with a raised eyebrow the next morning, when he picked her up for breakfast, but she explained an idea she’d had about waterproofing the trousers to seal them before adding the charm.

He nodded, trying to hide a smile, and didn’t mention it again. They didn’t really have a chance to talk over breakfast, as Charlie introduced her to his friends. Hermione found herself unexpectedly disappointed, they had more in common than she’d realised and he had a wicked sense of humour. She’d discovered that you could tell his mood by a moving tattoo of an emerald dragon, which rested in the pulse point of his throat, just visible above his shirt, and found herself fighting to keep her eyes off it.

Her first day on the job found herself busy, and except when she found her gaze caught on muscled thighs, her mind never strayed from her work. The image of two lovers again crossed her mind, and she pushed it away, determinedly. If she couldn’t stop leering at the men, how could she expect the same courtesy in return?

A week later, Charlie came to visit her in the nurse’s office, a wide grin stretching his face. He watched the nurse spread a third layer of salve over the burns on her thighs, wincing, and offered her a plate of dinner. She murmured her gratitude but refused to catch his eye. She was going to go down with her dignity intact.

They had gotten into a habit of meeting for breakfast, and the next morning, his eyes went straight to her legs.

“Finally gave in, did you?” he laughed, “give us a twirl?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Charlie.” Hermione said fondly, blushing, and pulling her tunic down over her bum, followed him out. She had to admit the trousers were very warm, and she did feel safer with more insulation, but she was still a bit aware of the image they presented. Charlie’s lewd comments over breakfast didn’t help, but she was comfortable enough with him now that it didn’t upset her. However, when she was emptying her tray, and bending over to pick up a dropped fork, she heard a splutter from behind her.

“On second thoughts, I…don’t think you should wear those in public,” Charlie choked, eyes fixed firmly on her bum, swallowing hard. His cheeks were pink, and his tattoo was blowing flames madly over his neck.

Hermione straightened the image of the couple suddenly vivid in her mind. Leather clad legs and- this time- a flash of red hair as they kissed.

Charlie looked away, biting his lip, and Hermione, bright red, muttered a goodbye and left. It was only later that day, when she’d recovered from her mortification, that she realised maybe these leather trousers weren’t such a bad thing after all.


End file.
